C’mon darling, where’s the love
What thought exactly were you thinking of
Your smile’s as snide as an immigrant’s pass
You’re dressed to impress but you ain’t built to last
C’mon darling where’s the love
You can’t salivate, you can’t bleed blood
Your wounds are well dressed and your tan’s well applied
But the better you look, girl, the less that I find
Fault lines and fractures, disposable limbs
Horses for courses and fucking machines
C’mon darling where’s the love
What thought exactly were you thinking of
One for your master or one for your maid
One that you kept for a spare just in case
C’mon darling, where’s the love
C’mon darling, where’s the love
Where’s the love
The face of another young virgin’s been caved
As Sylvia Pankhurst turns in her grave
And it’s all for the sake of a trip to the sink
Where she’s hog-tied and handcuffed and dares not to think
C’mon darling where’s the love